Thursday Flash Tale – A Flash Fiction Adventure

Thursday Flash Tale – A Flash Fiction Adventure

We are trying something new on the PJV, we call it Flash Tales. It’s Flash Fiction, with a random writing prompt. Joss and I will be doing this, and we would love to have you guys join in. Or just read our stuff and let us know what you think. What we are doing is generating a random idea prompt, using the site Short Story Ideas. Then we’ll write a 1K to 2K tale based off of the idea generated.

Here is what the Short Story Idea generated for me:

A train is the location, weakness is the theme. A fur coat is an object that plays a part in the story.

 

This is an unedited work of fiction. All content © 2016 by Gillian Zane. This content can not be shared or republished without express permission from the author. 

Just Another Day by Gillian Zane

 

This always happened to me. You would think by now I would have learned my lesson. I stumbled and grabbed at the coat I had hastily thrown around me so it wouldn’t fall open. I had broken into the neighboring sleeper and grabbed the first thing I saw. That first thing happened to be a calf-length faux fox fur that looked like something you would see in a rap video. It was about five sizes too big and wrapped around me like a robe, which was probably a good thing, since I was butt naked underneath it.

How did this shit happen to me?

I didn’t want to answer that. I knew damn well how this shit happened to me. The train lurched and I grabbed for the back of the seat closest to me. The man in it looked up at me in irritation and then scowled. His eyes widening when he took me in.

I must look like shit. I wound my way down the aisle of tightly packed seats to the restroom. The train lurched again. Or was it just me? My head was throbbing and there was a black film over my peripheral vision. There was someone coming out of the bathroom and I pushed past them, antsy to get in the confined space.

“Hey, what the hell,” the woman said, but she fell away when she got a look at me.

“Fuck off,” I didn’t let her respond, slipping in the bathroom and locking the door behind me.

I glanced in the mirror and laughed. I was a sight. Mascara rimmed my eyes, my lipstick from last night was smeared across my face. If some dumb ass paparazzi tracked me down they wouldn’t recognize me, I barely recognized myself. I tried to clean up the mess but make-up these days was like permanent marker, the shit was impossible to get off with only soap and water. Like they put some kind of special sauce into the stuff, that only came off with their coordinated make-up remover.

Someone banged on the door.

Ocupado,” I said in a bad Spanish accent. There was grumbling from the other side of the door.

My coat had fallen open and I glanced down at myself. I had lost more weight. That happens when you live off of energy drinks, cocaine, and rough sex for two days. I noticed the bruises on my legs and winced. Maybe it was time to reassess my life choices. I had thought grabbing a train for a cross country sexual escapade with DJ Levithius, the act I was opening for, was a good idea. Then I found myself in the hall of a train, headed to God knows where, butt naked, holding back puke only because I hadn’t eaten in three days. All because he said I was annoying and talked too much.

“Mother bitch,” I muttered in the mirror. I had to call my manager. I didn’t even know where my pack was. It had my phone in it and all my credit cards. I remembered it was in my hotel room…had I left it?

Levithius had knocked on my door, smiled that ridiculously charming smile, waved a bag of uppers in my face…and mentioned we had a 3-day break between cities and he always wanted to take a train.

My bag had to be in his sleeper. My hand slipped on the wet counter and I hit my head on the mirror.

“Fuck!” Someone banged on the door and I hissed back a slew of curses.

There was a red mark on my forehead. I rubbed at it and it pulsed in pain. My headache focused down to that tiny spot and throbbed like a nuclear bomb about to burst out of my skull. I could use an upper right now, just to get me out of this funk. I would feel so much better. I needed to call my manager. I needed to get to…

I couldn’t remember the next city of the tour. Cincinnati. Chicago? Something with a C. Or maybe it was Shreveport, wherever the hell that was. I drank water out of the sink, the cold, chemically tasting water did little to quench my thirst, but it focused my attention back to what mattered. I needed my clothes and pack from Levithius’ sleeper.

I pushed open the door to be greeted by the faces of two scowling attendants. They both stepped back and the female placed a hand over her mouth. Yeah, I looked bad. My face was still painted in swirls and dots that glowed in the dark, from the rave last night. Some of it had wiped off, but they looked like a bad tattoo now. I hadn’t been able to get the mascara off, so my eyes were dark holes of tragedy. Don’t even get me started with the lipstick that had sort of washed off, but my lips were still tinged purple. Rave hangover was a tragic sight.

“Boo,” I motioned with my hands, realizing too late that I was holding the coat closed. They got a peek.

“You’re welcome,” I said in my gritty voice as I maneuvered to get the coat closed.

I shoved past the staring duo, not giving two shits about what they thought of me. Judge. Judge. Judge. I’ve been judged all my life. I was used to it.

I walked past families that clutched their kids tighter as I passed, and stuffy businessmen in their cinched up business attire, looking like they had rods shoved up their tight asses. Then there were the semi-stinky hipsters on holiday, over-doused with cologne and pepermint flavored lattes, taking selfies whenever they passed something worth noting on Snapchat. I glanced down at the mega tablet that one of them was holding, reading some newsblog.

“Bugger,” I ripped the tablet out of his hand, slapping at his other hand when he tried to grab it back. “One second stinky.” I stared with horror at the screen.

ELECTROPOP SENSATION KIKI SHOCKS TOURISTS WITH PUBLIC PDA WITH DJ LEVITHIUS AND UNKNOWN MALE

And there I was with Levithius’ hands up my skirt and the unknown male’s mouth on my tit, which of course were on display but blurred out. His name was Ray, or maybe Paul. A fan. We had rocked his world.

“Oh shit, you’re her, Kiki,” the guy across from me said. I ignored him. I scrolled down the page. There were a few more pictures. Apparently, I had a threesome near a fountain in downtown San Antonio. Too bad I couldn’t remember it. I remembered getting on this train right after and leaving Paul, or was it Liam, in the station.

I handed the guy back his tablet and got up, accidentally flashing him. He gaped at me.

“You’re welcome,” I leered and rolled my eyes. Time to get back to Levithius’ sleeper. I needed to pass out, or take something to wake me up.

Some how I managed to get down the hall and figure out which compartment we were in. I was almost there when I heard someone shout from behind me.

“That’s my coat! Stop, or I’m going to get the APD.” I turned around and rolled my eyes at the plump lady that was pointing a finger at me.

“I needed it,” I said with a shrug.

“Take it off!” She insisted.

“Fine,” I let it drop to the floor and she hissed in response.

“You’re welcome,” I turned around and banged on the sleeper that I hoped held Levithus. He opened the door and a cloud of sweet smelling smoke poured out, he took one look at me naked in the hallway and smirked, pulling me in and slamming the door behind me.

“You’re a dick,” I pouted as he threw me a little baggy that contained a few pills. I didn’t even question them as I popped them into my mouth and dried swallowed them. I instantly felt better, even though I knew it would take awhile for the effects to hit.

“We’ll be in Colombia in four hours,” he ignored my insult. I knew it started with a C.

“What we gonna do until then?” I sat down on the bed, not caring that I was still nude.

“I’ve got some ideas.”

“You think you’d be bored, we’ve been going at it for the last 48-hours,” I tried to stifle the yawn.

“Just another day…” he did yawn.

 

2 Comments

  1. Lisa Mandina (Lisa Loves Literature)

    Love this idea! I didn’t get to it this week, but am going to try to fit this in next week for sure to get some more practice with my writing.

  2. Patti (@thelovejunkee

    “You’re welcome” Why did this make me laugh more every time she said it? Good story – not the ending I expected.

Cassie’s Coffee Shop Escapades – Flash Fiction Thursday

It’s been awhile. I have nothing but long and drawn out excuses that you don’t want to hear. They involve a wasp infestation, the fact that I can’t say no…and the genius idea of turning rentals into AirBnB’s but doing all the work myself. But, I made it. And I’m writing again. I even have a release schedule. What? Yup. And I thought my “back on the horse” flash fiction, would take place in the world of Karma Inc. which is my current series.

This is an unedited Karma Inc. short. All content © 2017 by Gillian Zane.

read more

Thursday Flash Tale – A Flash Fiction Adventure

We are trying something new on the PJV, we call it Flash Tales. It’s Flash Fiction, with a random writing prompt. Joss and I will be doing this, and we would love to have you guys join in. Or just read our stuff and let us know what you think. What we are doing is generating a random idea prompt, using the site Short Story Ideas. Then we’ll write a 1K to 2K tale based off of the idea generated.

Here is what the Short Story Idea generated for me:

A convenience store is the location, angst is the theme. A pack of cigarettes is an object that plays a part in the story.

read more
Page 1 of 212

About The Author

Gillian Zane

Gillian Zane is an Amazon bestselling author that specializes in dark genre fiction for adults. Gillian defines herself by the city she was raised in, New Orleans. She’s tried moving away a few times but always comes back. At the age of ten, she decided she would be a writer and has been determined every since. Between that decision and when she actually finished a book that she believed was good enough to publish, she’s served in the military, worked as a bartender, became a cog in the corporate marketing wheel as a person “that makes things pretty” and has since been laid off too many times to count. She currently writes full-time, but still, continues to “make things pretty” by designing book covers and websites for her fellow authors and bloggers. Gillian lives in New Orleans with her husband, her daughter, and an ugly dog. You can find Gillian Zane on twitter @GillianZane. Sign up for her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bmCzWf